Reasons Why
by caffeineaddict13
Summary: J/B oneshot. Not this brown and perfect wolfboy. You can’t even call him beautiful.


**A/N**: Just a little something to pass the time. Precursor to the 5-part "Confessions"-like J/B shipping styled piece I've been thinking of doing. That was one of my favorite GG stories and hopefully I'll have enough to fill that up soon. In the meantime, this is sort of a New Moon Bellacentric wishing thing.

**Disclaimer**: Umm…seriously. Does it _look_ like I own any of this?

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1. It's his warmth, you realize.

He's so very _warm_. And it's that simple. He reaches for your hand and you let him take it, just so you can feel his blood flowing next to yours, and you know that you're still human (you will always be _human_, as long as he is there), but you think you can feel it pulsing beneath your cool palm, you think you can smell it, and something inside you shivers because it smells _good_. Like the forest after it rains, the scents of the plants leaking in, metallic like rain, sweet like mint and rosemary, the hot, summer scent of the sun. And you realize it's not his blood your smelling (you shake your head, you're so _stupid_), its just _him._ His warmth. His smile. The tiny crease between his eyes deepens when his mouth spreads wide, reaching the corners of his cheeks; and somewhere in your mind you wonder how he could _not_ be in pain, its so wide, but it doesn't falter for a second.

2. It's because he loves you.

He loved you the very second he saw you. He tells you this now, his grip tightening on your hand, red flowing adorably to his cheeks, and vaguely you feel your mouth twitching in response. He says it was your eyes, your coffee brown eyes, and your long hair and pale skin; he says it was your tiny frame and your eyelashes, the way you batted them at him and he says he thought, oh she's _flirting_, she _likes_ me, fifteen-year-old Jacob Black thoughts, and you both laugh, because Jacob Black was never_ really _fifteen. He was twenty-five even before he started to look it, because he took care of his father and fixed cars and was in love with a broken girl. And you want to tell him _so bad_ that you loved him then, too, even if you didn't know it. The minute your shoulder touched his, when his husky voice whispered ghost stories in your ear, your heart jumped and you pushed it away, but you know now, you _know_.

3. It was never _really_ a question, was it?

He will always be there. You feel so horribly guilty at the thought, because he deserves _so_ much better than you, broken you, dead you, _oblivious_ you. He is your sun, and all you can be is glass, fragile and hard and cold, and you think softly that you are just like _him_, the one that left you, the _other one_, and you think how ironic it is that you always wanted to change, and now all you wish is to be warm like _him_. But he loves you, just the same, and you can't help but push aside the guilt and feel happy, because he loves _you_, and you love _him_, even though he will never ever know. He saved you, and he deserves the entire world, and you can't even give him yourself. You're so stuck, still stuck, on stupid high-school love (which isn't _really_ high-school love, but you think it anyway because it sounds just so much _easier_), and you can never give him what he needs. Not this brown and perfect wolfboy. You can't even call him _beautiful_.

4. And he is so very beautiful.

His skin glows like sun baked kisses and glossy wet raspberries and you want to pull away the sadness in his loving eyes. He is every word that means _beautiful_, he is the very epitome of _beautiful_, and you add _sort of_ like he _barely_ makes the cut. And you're staring at his chest, the muscles contracting in the cold (but you know he is not cold, and he is looking at you, and you think, my god, am _I_ the cause of that?). Your eyes are following the purple lines in his skin, the jutting collarbone down to the rough brown skin, the lines go lower and lower and your blushing when you reach that perfect V, blushing at the soft hair, blushing at how goddamn _beautiful_ it is, just because it's _him_. In the corner of your eyes you see him smile again, and you realize he's smiling at you, and you look away, feeling the heat flooding to your cheeks, and still your body _aches_ for his warmth, because you are _still _not as warm as when he holds you.

5. But how can you love him?

You can never love him. Not _enough_. And a word flashes through your mind—imprinting—and you catch him staring at you like he's trying to figure something out, _no,_ he's staring at you like he's trying to _make something happen_. And you know that any second he could see her, _the_ her, the one that would take him away from you, and you wonder if perhaps he already has, perhaps he'll be with you forever, and maybe _that's_ the connection between you, maybe _that's_ the pulling of those strings, the center of your heart (because it is _him_, isn't it? Every beat is Jacob), and then common sense comes back. Because if he's imprinted, than _you_ wouldn't be feeling it, because _you _can't imprint, but then how is this…_feeling_ so strong? It wouldn't be so bad, you think, having him never able to leave you. And then you're guilty, because you know that you can leave _him_. Because if you could imprint, it wouldn't be to Jacob, and that makes you incredibly, overwhelmingly _sad_.

6. Because you will never deserve him.

7. Because your body _aches_ for his.

8. Because your heart is beating because of _him_.

9. Because you want so badly to kiss him.

10. And it will never ever ever be _enough_.

11._ And you hate it_.

--

**END**


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